Chicken Wangs, Wal Mart and Dora is a Judgmental Little Bitch

Sometimes a bitch just wants some chicken and sometimes the only place to get it is at the Wal Mart because every other place is closed. Now, if you have ever seen my ass, you know this girl loves me some fried chicken and in some moods, I'm willing to stab a bitch for it. But there is something about going into Wal Mart that is simply magical. Come all ye bloated, ye tired, ye cankled....and you walk out feeling like the skinniest, prettiest, most classy (er, KLASSY) chick on two slender legs to ever walk through automatic double doors.

Now, one would think the double doors are for getting that big screen from electronics that is on roll back through the mercantile's foyer: but, ye.
Ye does not knoweth the kansuffalos that squeeze their way sideways to get through those doors. Generally, they are on a huffy puffy mad dash to get to the hover rounds stashed next to the carts. Oh yes, the Wal Mart hover round; the engineers of which should get mad props for. That is one fine piece of structurally sound motorized engineering. The next time tornado sirens go off, I'm going to go all incredible she hulk with a raging case of PMS (we turn pink rather than green, honey buns *wink*), stack those fuckers up and hide from the cyclone with one dainty hand poking out the top flipping the wind off screaming F-5 THIS, MOTHAFUCKAH!

I digress. So, on this particular venture for some chicken wangs and gahlic mashed potatoes and brown gravy. Yes, brown. (Suck it, Trebek) I noted the woman ahead of me in her halter and feeling quite guilty for thinking, "Bitch, go put a bra on. They're 200 feet that way, and probably some on roll back", then I realized the tube sock titties (aka pendulous bresticles) were, in fact, pendulous backfaticles. In shock, and perhaps needing a nap, I found myself entranced as the back fat began to sing to me in a Dora the Explorer voice.


Backfat, Backfat
Back fat, Back fat
I'm the Back fat!
Loaded up with adipose and cellulite too
All your missing things, hidden in folds for you.
Backfat back fat
Back fat, back fat
YEAH!

and then....

If there's no place you got to go
I'm the one you need to know
I'm the fat
I'm the fat
I'm the fat
If there's a place you got to get
I can stop you there I bet
I'm the fat, (12 times)
IM THE BACK FAT

I blame my NEED for chicken wangs and subliminal Dora messages. Chicken wangs=bat wings and I'm going to fly away on mine. On a jet powered Wal Mart hover round. Now give a girl some damn chicken wangs, hand me those napkins I know you have stashed under that back fat and shut the fuck up Dora.

Whoremoanalness: Never Fuck With A Woman's Quest For Food

For the most part I am a 14 year old nerdy boy trapped in a woman's body. I love fantasy books with a lot of walking (ex: Tolkien, Song of Ice and Fire series aka Game of Thrones etc.) and pontificate the philosophies behind the fiction. I can turn any sentence into a double entendre, I think fart jokes are HILARIOUS and if you want to watch SpaceBalls, Starwars (not that prequel bullshit),any zombie genre movie or spend an evening watching old reruns of Star Trek or Quantum Leap, I'm your girl. Especially if there is a case of beer involved. Yet every 28 days or so, that theory goes completely out the window and I experience a metamorphosis into an estrogen surged, emotional over halmark commercials with a beast like carb craving that is only slightly worse in pregnancy. God help anyone who gets in my way. I will make the Incredible Hulk look like a beaten puppy, especially if that mother fucker is blocking my path to Chinese Food.

So in this whormoanal state and woebegone over the complete lack of chicken lo Mein, fried rice and crab rangoon in my life, I began to fantasize (in my poor craving Chinese food induced psychosis) what I was willing to do to remedy this situation. I actually made a list, and it goes as follows:


If there was a little old lady who resembles my sweet, wonderful grandmother blocking my path to lo mein, I would kick her cane out from under her and steal her life alert bracelet while standing over her and yelling THAT WHAT YOU GET! and then pawn the bracelet to the pedophile that hangs out outside of grocery store to get my lo mein


I would stab a nun to get my lo mein.

If there was a long line of people at the establishment and after a quick scan of my purse, I did not have enough ammo to take them out, I would stand on a table and scream about fried maggots, roaches, and pit bull on a stick and e. coli before those mother fuckers could eat all of my lo mein.

I would consider an orgy with Rick Santorum, Rick Perry, and Sam Brownback. I am fairly certain they would be the easiest blow jobs ever. Not even a jaw cramp. But only if it's completely dark. And if they brought extra crab rangoon. A girl has standards, for fucks sake.


If the Dalai Lama were holding my lo mein, I would sneak behind him, throw his robes over his head and steal it out of his hands. Because with the lo mein in my hands, I would be happy in that happiness is wanting what you have, not having what you want. And I want some God.Damned.Lo mein.


I would steal an old lady's hover round and mow over small children to get my low mein.


I would declare the Jersey Shore a documentary of class and how society should be. Their skin is yellowie orange like duck sauce. MMMMMM....duck sauce. I would lick duck sauce off of snooki's thigh for some lo mein.


I would mud wrassle Fred Phelps for some lo mein, with the caveat that if I break his hip, I get double portions.


When I am pregnant the same applies, but only to chocolate milkshakes and those fantasies are much more violent. I wouldn't want to elaborate on how crazy that list gets for fear of completely ruining my reputation. Men think PMSing women are batshit crazy....really they have no idea. Be afraid. Be very afraid. And go get me some fucking lo mein.